


The Italian Problem

by Getti (Epsy)



Series: It's a Rome-com [2]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Ed loves Roy and Roy loves Ed and they make each other happy, F/M, Fluff, I will not apologise for art, M/M, This is just pure sugar start to finish, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-08-14 04:05:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7997920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Epsy/pseuds/Getti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A holiday romance is one thing, but what really makes it special, what really proves it's honest emotion (and not just sun stroke or a bad case of looking at too much shitty, schmoopy, Italian art for too damn long) is coming home and finding that nothing much has changed. </p><p>-A stilted epilogue to When in Rome, but it'll make fine sense without reading that-</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Italian Problem

**Author's Note:**

> There's a whole line about the EU in here that's now actually kind of a sore spot LOLOL and that tells you how long I've been sitting on this. 
> 
> I'm sitting on so much stuff. I'm like a chicken with loads of fic eggs. Nothing's done though. Even this will probably have more added to it, since the story of Ed's leg is still untold. 
> 
> WARNING: This is kind of an epilogue, kind of just snippets from their lives. It's not...really...anything. OK go.

"You look like you're gonna' shit a brick. Boy-o." Chris gives a dark chuckle as she uses one arm to turn the car sharply round a bend. The other hand hangs lazily from the open window, dropping a stream of ash into the morning air outside. Roy doesn't pout. He turns, dignified and unruffled, to the window. "Stop pouting," Chris rolls her eyes. Roy pouts some more out of spite.

 

"You can't blame me for being a little nervous."

 

"Maybe not. I can blame you for being a baby about it, though. Learn how to drive you blind fucking quiche!" The driver that cuts them off looks startled as Chris honks the horn and gives him the finger. The two of them receive an angry scowl before he takes the next exit. 

 

"There's no point in substituting your insults with less offensive language if you still use 'fucking' in front of your nouns."

 

"Baby steps, Roy. And don't change the subject. You got a change of undies?" Chris grins at him and Roy sighs. 

 

"I'm not going to wet myself. I'm in my thirties."

 

"Then act like it. The last time you two met in an airport went okay, didn't it? You'll be fine."

 

Well, she wasn't wrong. The last time Roy had seen Ed in an airport had certainly gone 'okay'. More than okay, really. Splendiferously, in fact, if he had to narrow it down to one word. There's a loud ding-dong from the phone in his hand. 

 

"That boy ever shut up?" Chris comments off-handedly. 

 

"Do you?"

 

"I thought you were 'in your thirties', Mister Chatback." There's a glint in Chris's eye that says nothing Roy does will pass without comment that day, so he ignores her and opens the text with a soft smile. 

 

_ -Boarding now. Edinburgh rainy as fuck. Think the flight is like an hour? but they seated al all the way at the back because planes suck. you on your way? _

 

**We've almost reached London. It'll take maybe forty minutes to finish with my appointment, but then I'll get the express over to Stansted. Want me to get you tickets?-**

 

- _ Nah we have coach tickets already. Ride with us? _

 

**Of course. I'll see you soon.-**

 

Pineapple emoji, pineapple emoji, pineapple emoji. He leaves off how his brain is firing tennis balls of excitement and utter terror at the forecourt of his mind, and also how badly he's missed curling Ed's small, tightly wound frame in his arms. He can't help but feel that Ed knows that already though, somehow. 

 

It's been a rough few months. He'd been running from reality in Italy, and even though he'd been fully aware of that at the time, it has still been a slow and sticky process of rehabilitation. Back in England, Oxford is a closed box that he's been stewing in. His therapist has been a godsend, though. Irritating, and far too pushy, but she's keeping him on track with an iron fist. The team call, and write. Havoc...

 

Well Havoc had listened to him apologise profusely for about fifteen minutes, then promptly cuffed him round the head. And now the two of them are looking at apartments to rent. Which he hasn't mentioned to Ed yet, in case it scares him off to know that Roy is moving closer. It's not just for Ed of course; Gracia and Elysia live in London, and Havoc's new job is there, and Roy will have more opportunities himself in the capital. It's really just a bonus to be close to the most ridiculously amazing person he's ever met. Ed shouldn't be scared off by it anyway, given how badly he takes to the idea of long distance. It should be fine. And dandy. Hopefully. 

 

"Do you want to go back home?" Chris asks suddenly. There's a hint of the serious underneath her teasing. Roy wonders exactly how awful he looks that she could be genuine about turning back. 

 

"What? No. Why would I want to go home?"

 

"Because you look like a bulldog licking piss off a thistle."

 

"I...see." Roy lets out a sigh and turns to her. She rolls her shoulders and flicks the cigarette butt out of the window. She always did have a great sense of when Roy was about to divulge something he was vulnerable about. "It's just that he's so young. I'm not ignorant enough to believe the rest of the world and the people actually moving at the pace of someone in their twenties won't be a draw to him. He was worried about things changing once we were back in England, but I'm the one that should be worrying about that, really. He could tire of me very quickly once he gets back home and it's no longer a bubble containing just the two of us." Roy folds his hands in his lap and focuses on removing all hint of stress from his face. Scratching her chin, Chris considers his words.

 

"It's a big deal then, if this kid walks off?"

 

"...Unfortunately, yes."   

 

"Rookie error, Boy-o. But you said you convinced him it was worth giving a shot. Maybe you should take your own advice."

 

"Perhaps." Roy settles his eyes on the distance and tries to think himself out of the circles his mind is running in. He knows it'll be better once he has Ed there in the flesh again. After all, Roy's too old for infatuation now. He hopes. 

 

\------

 

Ed can't keep still. It's not like he sin't trying; it's just goddamn impossible. Maybe he would be stiller if the world  _ moved faster. _

 

"Brother, it's going to take you twice as long if you keep fidgeting." Al is already past the electronic reader, watching as the strange little machine scans Ed's face and makes little beeping sounds. 

 

"They replaced actual real people's jobs with these things. What the fuck."

 

"The beauty of being in the EU."

 

"The EU can suck my-" A particularly loud beep cuts Ed off, and the glass doors open with a whoosh. Grumpily Ed shifts his backpack and trudges out of the strange cubical. 

 

"Not so bad. We only have to walk through customs and then we'll be home free. Is Roy here yet?" Al's smile is wide and sparkling, and Ed would do bad things for a lemony-fresh cleaning wipe to scrub the look off his angelic little face.

 

"Please don't say his name," Ed groans.

 

"That's ridiculous. You've been texting him non-stop since we landed."

 

"I'm going to be sick." Ed's only half joking. His stomach is sailing the seas of nausea and his heartbeat is like a pendulum swinging him forwards.

 

"There's a bin over there." Al points half heartedly. 

 

"You're no help."

 

"Come on. You'll feel better when you see him." Al seems sure. Ed doesn't fight the nudge to his arm, and approaches customs like its a firing squad. What if Roy doesn't like him any more? What if Roy found someone not totally fucked up? What if they both remembered a burgeoning romance but actually hated each other and had just gone mad with cabin fever?

 

"Anything to declare?" The customs officer asks, bored and immune to Ed's inner turmoil. Ed tries to swallow but all the saliva in his mouth has dried up, and seems to have started a new career in the sweat business. 

 

"Nothing," he croaks. 

 

That's it. The last line of defence. He can already see people waiting in arrivals, peering round the corner for whichever relative they've come to collect. He imagines Roy with a card with his name on it, and then realises that would be stupid since Roy is pretty goddamn familiar with what Ed looks like. 

 

And now he's bright red. Which is fucking perfect because that means he gets to see Roy properly for the first time in months looking like a shitting lobster and isn't  _ that _ just the most attractive thing ever?

 

They file with the slow moving crowd into the big hall. Ed alternates between looking down at his beat-up boots, and up into the crowd. His heart's going nuts. He's going to die from freaking nerves alone. They'll have to write on his headstone 'Died as he lived; shitting his pants'.

 

He looks up and his traitorous eyes latch on to Roy straight away. He's scanning the crowd ahead of them, looking composed but betrayed by the nervous fingers tapping his hip, thumb tucked chicly into one pocket. Eventually he picks up on Ed's uninterrupted staring, and turns to look at them. His whole expression melts into a smile. 

 

"Oh dear. He's got it bad," Al murmurs.

 

"The fuck, Al?"

 

"Nothing. Stop stopping. You have to say hello sooner or later. "

 

"I know," Ed bites back. But then his tongue dries up like a leather boot strap and his feet are taking him in Roy's direction like they're attached to someone else. 

 

Roy is still tall, still graceful, still able to whisk all the air from Ed's lungs just by smiling at him softly in the middle of the airport madness. It's really not fair, not even a little bit. Ed still has wrinkles on his cheek from where he napped on his hoodie, and the circles under his eyes from the nerves that kept him up all night. It makes no sense that look could be for him. But Roy's not looking away. 

 

"Hey." Ed shrugs the rucksack on his shoulder, and tries to smile. Roy bites his bottom lip for an eighth of a goddamn second and everything in Ed is set to clamouring. 

 

"Hey," Roy says softly back.

 

"Hey Roy! I'm going to print the tickets for the train," Al announces. He pushes past Ed, and the movement knocks him forward; as though Al has ever been anything but a fucking swan on his feet; as though Al ever bumped into anyone on the planet accidentally in his short and brilliant existence. Ed would turn to glare at him, and he'd fucking deserve it, but Roy has reached forward to steady him with big, gentle palms closing around Ed's biceps. As it stands, he barely registers Al leaving. Roy's face is close, and his expression is this thing between euphoria and nostalgia. Somehow a champagne cork pops inside Ed's chest and ricochets around his vitals. 

 

"I missed you. Your hair looks different."

 

"I missed you too. You haven't changed at all you smarmy-" Ed is tugged forwards into a hug and the words die on his tongue. He's buried in Roy's arms and the world is blotted out. He can't help grabbing fistfuls of Roy's coat, he really can't. Roy buries a nose in his hair and takes a breath. That should be weird, but really it only makes Ed feel less guilty when he does the same to Roy's neck.

 

"This is dumb," Ed mumbles into a shoulder. "We can't do this every time we meet in an airport."

 

"...We haven't even done  _ half _ of what we did last ti- ow." Roy is cut off by a thump to the arm, and then a gentle caress over the bruise. When Ed pulls back out of Roy's collar, he has to look at Roy's face again and it makes his lungs freeze. He can hardly convince his brain to accept this as reality. 

 

"Al is, like, right there," Ed stutters, for a moment forgetting why he'd hit Roy in the first place. 

 

"My apologies." 

 

"Liar. You're not even a bit sorry." It's weird. Ed doesn't know what to say but his mouth won't stop running. He knows, in his head, that he and Roy have had deep conversations about everything and nothing, maybe about things they shouldn't even know about each other yet. But in reality, with his rucksack digging in to his bad shoulder and Roy's soft smile stripping him down, Ed can only think of biting remarks and defence. He doesn't want to spill his dumb shit everywhere right off the bat. Roy probably remembers him being nice or interesting or something else he just can't pretend right now...

 

Roy just keeps smiling. Maybe Ed can fake it long enough that it'll be okay. 

 

Roy takes his hand when Al returns, and they head to the bus court. No one comments on Ed's sudden silence. Roy and Al flank him and make pleasantries over his head. Part of him wonders if the two of them talked about this moment before it could happen, because it sure seems like they both expected him to turtle in on himself from the beginning. Every so often Roy's thumb will rub lightly over the back of his hand. After ten minutes of nothing going terribly, horrifically wrong, Ed allows himself to squeeze Roy's hand in return. They play footsie on the bench they claim by their bus stop, and Al studiously ignores them. When they get on the coach and the night is creeping in, Roy lifts both bags into the overhead like a gentleman. And then Ed's brain gives in, and he decides that he can't put his foot in his mouth if he's sleeping, so that's precisely what's he's going to do. 

 

And if Roy is gonna' let himself be a human pillow, then all the better. Because coach headrests are the least comfortable of all the transports. Except maybe pushbikes. 

 

Ed's thoughts are short circuited by a hand threading through his hair. He pointedly thinks of nothing but the sensation at every point where he and Roy touch, and eventually manages to sleep. 

 

\---

 

Ed is a zombie as Roy manoeuvres him off the coach. They'd slid through the streets of London in Victoria, and everywhere is noise and mess. Pigeons scatter as they make their way out into the darkened streets.

 

Alphonse is a delight. Roy's not sure what he's been expecting, but Al is almost nothing like Ed. If they didn't look so perfectly similar he'd be hard pressed to believe they were related at all. Al's eyes are wide and his smile is easy; his happiness at being home lends him a bounce and easy smile. It's contagious. It also makes dragging Ed between them a lot easier than it potentially could have been. Between them they even manage to coax a sleepy laugh out of him once or twice, and a small rant on the biased nature of male shoe sizes (Roy files information away - size eight. For reference).

 

Ed is strangely quiet overall though. Roy's not sure if he's lost his Ed-reading skills, or if Ed's just too tired to paint his emotions as vividly as usual, but something isn't right. Roy is allowed to slip a hand around Ed's waist all the way to the hotel though, which is better than being totally removed from him. Tension winds through those small, stocky shoulders the closer they get to the travel lodge. Ed has stopped responding to any conversation at all by the time they reach the entrance. 

 

Al checks them in and Ed is a pinless grenade beside him. Roy starts to remove his arm in case Ed wants space, but the look he receives is so furtively panicked that Roy just moves to pull him in closer. 

 

"You okay?" He finally asks. 

 

"Yeah." A lie. Ed hasn't been favouring his good leg, so it can't be pain. Roy trusts Alphonse to spot that kind of thing quicker than he could anyway. He's completely receptive to touch, so it can't be -it mustn't be, Roy's not sure he could stand it if it is- that Ed has just lost interest in him. He's at a loss.

 

"Here Brother, your key." Al throws it and Ed fumbles to catch the little plastic card. He looks like he might faint. Roy decides retreat is the best option. Something about him is clearly making Ed uncomfortable, and as much as that hurts, he doesn't want to be the reason for Ed looking so nervous.

 

"I'll leave you two to get some rest then. Ed has my number if you need anything. I'll come find you when you've sorted out your new place. Maybe for lunch?"

 

"Sounds good," Alphonse agrees after a moment of silence. He shoots Ed a quizzical look but gets nothing in return. Roy leans down to place a gentle kiss on the side of Ed's head. "Tomorrow then. Sleep well." He presses the rucksack into Ed's hand and summons a smile for him. Ed smiles weakly back. 

 

"Goodnight." 

 

There are eyes on him all the way to the door. Roy refuses to look back, listening to Al talk softly as he presses the elevator button. Roy's heart is a paperweight inside  him. He's been nervous, yes, but so excited to see Ed again in a silly, infatuated, teenager sort of way. For a whole fortnight he's been counting down the days like they were hours. Leaving now goes against everything he's been idiotically daydreaming about. But it's better to regroup. He'll come back tomorrow no matter what. He'll-

 

"Wait!" Footsteps, and a hand closing around his arm. His heart hurls itself at his ribs.

 

"Ed?"

 

"Would you..like to stay? I have a double. It's late. Um." Ed's eyes look a little frantic, and he bites his lips as though he's trying to take the words back. "I'm sorry, I know you only just got to London. You probably...are really tired and stuff. You don't have to. You can go home."

 

Roy smiles, truly smiles. As wide as he can make it go. 

 

"I was so worried you were just going to let me leave," he admits. Ed's shoulders drop with relief. One day, Roy is really going to have to convince this man how much he wants to be there, and how little of a burden of any kind Ed actually is. 

 

"Okay." Ed takes a breath. The grin breaks out over his face like he can't stop it. He ducks his head. "Okay. Let's go."

 

\---

 

They curl up in the weird, characterless hotel bed, and all of their limbs slot right together. Roy knows his foot will be asleep in a few hours, and that he's going to get hair in his mouth mid-breath at some point. It's a glorious knowledge. 

 

The night is warm, dark, and soft. He's comfortable and happy even though he can't sleep, not with Ed beside him again. The clock by the bed says three. Ed stirs, he mutters something into the pillow, he shudders in his sleep. Roy strokes his hair. At three-twenty, Ed sits straight up with a half gasp. 

 

When he focusses on Roy, he starts to calm. Roy takes that moment to lean in and kiss his bare shoulder. 

 

"No more bad dreams, isn't that how it works?"

 

Ed's face is full of an adoration that storms through Roy utterly. 

 

\---

 

Roy holds the paint cans on each shoulder, and tries not to worry that he feels suitably manly and rugged as Ed leads them all up the stairs to the apartment door. It's a gated community, with codes on the main doors. Altogether a much safer, nicer area than Roy's place. A part of him is relieved that Ed lives here, even though he knows that Ed could probably take very good care of himself in the more troubling neighbourhoods. The elevator promises, via a print-out of a smiley face, to be up and running next week. There's flowers on the front lawn. An old lady offered to help  _ him _ with the bags. It's perfect.

 

"You have to imagine it when it's finished, okay? We've got plans for this place, it's gonna' be a great home. Al can bring his friends back, and he won't have to worry about it being gross or scary or-"

 

"You're the scary bit, Brother. Bring your own friends sometimes, too, okay?"

 

"Roy's here, isn't he?" Ed gestures vaguely as he rams the key into the lock of a clean new door. The whole complex must be only a few years old. 

 

"Boyfriends don't count," Al says decidedly. Roy watches Ed go red all the way to the tips of his ears, door swinging open as he makes a stompy escape into the apartment. 

 

It's roomy, and will continue to be even after furniture comes into the equation. The walls need paint, the floor needs sanding, but the windows are wide and the lights are all those chic little ceiling spotlights. There's a set of double doors that open out onto a tiny balcony. It has a delightful view of the busy road, but a view none the less. He sets down the cans and straightens his back. 

 

"Your place is nicer than mine. How am I being beaten by graduates in the game of life?"

 

"Probably because you're a lazy shit." Ed starts to pull paint rollers out of plastic bags. He throws one to Al who catches it deftly.

 

"Be nice, Brother." Ed sticks out a little pink tongue and Roy is seized with the need to kiss him into one of the bare walls. 

 

He resists until they're casting old bedsheets everywhere to protect the meagre contents of the room. The moment he and Ed are both under a blanket, bathed in the softly diffused light and peaks and valleys of cotton, he pulls Ed hip to hip. Ed lets out a 'meep' that melts Roy's heart like wax down his ribs. He tastes like fruit pastels, and they spend the next hour pretending to paint as Roy plots nefarious ways to steal the gummy sweets from Ed's back pocket. It only ends when Al cuffs them both round the head.

 

"Honestly I don't know how you two survived two weeks on your own. Roy you're supposed to be an adult."

 

"Child at heart," Roy declares. 

 

"And at mental capacity." Ed smirks until Roy swipes his nose with the end of a cream-coloured brush. Ed's face is immediately enraged. 

 

"You fuck! That's cold!"

 

\---

 

The smell of paint hangs heavy in the apartment, but there's no curtains to filter the morning sunshine, so it still feels light and airy. Ed throws open the balcony doors and breathes in the outside air deeply. He's determined to chase away the paint smell with the delicious scent of bacon, so he rummages through all of the cardboard boxes marked 'kitchen' until he finally pulls out a wobbly-handled frying pan.

 

The gas isn't on yet, but they have a camp stove. It heats the oil until it's merrily spitting and Ed drops in thick slabs of bacon, jumping backwards to avoid the scalding  spats. There's mismatched charity shop glasses for the orange juice, and paper plates with pictures of the latest royal baby on ready to be sacrificed to the grease gods. By the time he's ready to start on the pancakes, there's a student-flat style table setting for the three of them.

 

He hears the music first. Some kind of humming only slightly diluted by the crappy phone speaker, sounding like it's from the nineteen-fifties. Roy dances smoothly into the room humming along with it, pyjama pants sliding across the new linoleum and smirk firmly rooted in place. Ed fights a losing battle with his grin and turns back to pour the batter into the pan. 

 

"You're way too awake for a Sunday morning," Ed chastises, but there's no real temper in his voice. Roy answers him by singing some gibberish from the song at him, and sliding two warm hands around Ed's middle. Ed flips a pancake expertly, and then slams the pan down when he finally works out just what the hell it is that Roy is singing.

 

"Did you just call me 'little' via what I can only assume is a show tune from the last fucking century?"

 

"No, I called you ittie. And bittie, but also pretty..." A nose nuzzles at Ed's neck and kisses pepper the join at his shoulder. 

 

"Your pancakes will be served directly to your smarmy shitting face, Mustang-"

 

"I can't believe you don't know Thurston Harris."

 

"I was born after in the era of colour TVs, you cradle-robber. Move your perfect ass and let me get to the table."

 

Miracle of miracles, Roy actually does move, but once the pancake has been deposited and the pan replaced on the camp stove, Ed finds himself being whirled around the kitchen.

 

"What the fuck!" He fights at Roy's grip but he's laughing, warm sun on his skin, and hands there even warmer. Colours are high definition, and bacon and paint smells like paradise. Ed's chest is swelling as he squirms. Roy pulls them back to back to sway to the music.

 

"Breakfast is looking delicious." Roy presses a kiss to Ed's cheekbone, and Ed concentrates on not dropping oil off the spatula. 

 

"It'll be better when I've finished cooking it, so get off. How do you like your eggs?"

 

Ed feels the smirk cross Roy's face.

 

"I like mine with a kiss-"

 

"If you sing another show tune I swear to god."

 

"Morning Brother, Roy. You got  _ bacon!  _ I love your bacon." Al's hair is a downy mess of caramel fluffiness. His shorts have the stupid cats from his dumb cat-app on them, and he holds up a hand to high five Roy on his way to the impromptu cooking station. Ed turns back quickly to the pancake mix. His heart is going to explode, because it can't be possible to survive being this happy. Karma has to balance out; the ceiling is going to cave in. He'll choke on his bacon as a bouncing royal brat grins at him from their Poundland tableware.

 

Al wrestles the toaster out of a box and plugs it next to the stove. He's humming the stupid song too, wrestling with the opening on the loaf of bread. He nudges Ed with an elbow. 

 

"Breathe, Brother."

 

"Shut up," Ed responds out of reflex, but he finally pours the mix for the next pancake. It starts to brown and bubble in a way that fills Ed with satisfaction. 

 

"We don't have any maple syrup! We can't have bacon pancakes without syrup." Al sounds genuinely distressed. Ed can sympathise; his bacon pancakes were the only reason the kids at the home ever actually tolerated him. They used to line up to get a plate of the damn things. But they really lack that plate-licking glory without syrup.

 

"I'll go." Roy shrugs. "The corner shop will be open by now."

 

"Your clothes are still wet, though..." All of them turn to eye the damply hanging clothes on the wrack, still stained with paint in places. Roy flashes a grin. 

 

"I've got a jacket."

 

"And no shirt. And pyjama bottoms with  _ your name  _ sewed into the waistband." Ed flops a new pancake on the slowly growing stack. "You're going to look like an idiot."

 

Roy taps him on the nose.

 

"For you, I'm always an idiot." Ed rolls his eyes at the same time as Al groans dramatically behind him. Roy's laugh is a low rumble of happiness. "May as well get the locals used to my face."

 

Trousers tucked into his boots, jacket flapping open, Roy looks ridiculous. But the teasing strip of skin is still mouthwatering and Ed's whole brain still sings just looking  at him. 

 

"I'll be back in ten. You guys need anything else? Milk?" Ed throws a sponge at him.  "Okay, never mind. See you!" With a blinding grin, he's slipped out of the front door. 

 

"Keep him." Al orders abruptly. Ed is out of sponges. 

 

\---

 

They start a tradition on Valentine's Day; the person who can find the cheapest discount chocolate wins. Two years in a row, Ed's knowledge of thrift serves him well, and he trounces Roy with a whole Thornton's tray for two measly pounds. He keeps the fluorescent-yellow mark down stickers stuck to the fridge. Evidence. 

 

The third year Roy heads straight to the Cadbury World factory and comes back with an entire box of stuff covered in hearts and roses. All Ed can do is gawp at the crate that Roy lugs up all the stairs to Ed and Al's apartment. 

 

"And this was how much?"

 

"One single pound, my sweet apple pie, my cherry blossom, my-" Roy is pinching Ed's cheek. Ed gnashes at him. 

 

"I'll bite your fuckin' hand off!"

 

"Don't be a sore loser. They were begging people to take it, some kind of production error, and of course no one wants any of this the day after. The really big question is...well. What do we do with all of it?"

 

Ed eyes Roy. Roy eyes Ed. 

 

The sheets have to be washed three times. 

 

\---

 

Al cries when he sees Winry for the first time. Ed feels the prickle at the back of his own eyeballs, and nearly goes cross-eyed in an effort to keep his composure. The grin on his face is totally impossible to fight down, though. He'll have to work on that before the photographer starts getting happy-snappy. He's going to look like the cool older brother in those wedding pictures if it kills him. 

 

It's weird seeing Winry in a fancy dress. Al he's seen in tuxes and suits before, so he doesn't look  _ that _ weird in his waistcoat and tails. Winry looks like an honest to god princess though, and Ed has this weird urge to jump in a muddy puddle next to her like when they were kids.  

 

He's happy. He really is. It's kind of scary, actually, how happy he is. It's not even his day, but he thinks this might be the happiest day of his life, never mind Al's.

 

The bells ring loud enough to vibrate through his leg. The sun breaks through the clouds, dappling the steeple as he takes his place outside the church doors. Pinako bustles her way next to him. Someone has put a flower in her pipe, but it stays in her mouth anyway. Her eyes crinkle at the corners, and he knows she understands. Somewhere inside, Al and Winry are signing some kind of book or whatever, and then they'll be married. And Ed will have a  _ sister, _ and has that seriously just dawned on him? 

 

It's not like Winry has ever been anything but family, though. 

 

A hand snakes around his shoulders, and Ed shuffles his arms. They're laden with boxes of confetti (bird and nature friendly, made of rice paper, because Al wouldn't let anyone use anything else) and he can barely keep hold of them all. 

 

"Perfect, you can hold some of these." Ed turns to shove the boxes into Roy's chest, and Roy pulls back from where he'd been leaning in to kiss Ed's cheek. 

 

"Do you have a whole forest's worth of confetti?" Roy's brow raises and makes a face that mimics him. 

 

"No, it's made of rice, so if anything it would be a whole paddy field. And shut up because I have a plan and you're a part of it."

 

"Not that that fills me with dread at all, but you do recall this is an  _ important _ day, don't you?" Roy finally accepts the boxes and clutches them awkwardly. Ed ignores him and pulls out a silk handkerchief. In one smooth move he rips open a box with his teeth and upends it into the centre.

 

"See? Like that. Then I can grab big handfuls when they come out. Everyone else probably has theirs ready by now 'cause I handed 'em out, but they won't start throwing until Al and Win get to them. That's not quick enough. When that photographer shoots them at the doors I want there to be so many cute bits of confetti that it looks like the confetti apocalypse." Ed shakes the handkerchief at him. "So start emptying." Roy smiles at him a little lopsidedly, and inclines his head.

 

"As you wish." 

 

They have a sizeable pile going by the time the doors open, sheltering their hoard from the wind. The priest walks out and down the path with a smile on his face. Then out steps Al, hand over his eyes so he can adjust from the dim gloom of the church to the outside sun. A cheer goes up around them, and Ed's heart starts leaping again. Al pulls Winry out by the hand and she's smiling this huge, glittering smile that Ed has never seen her wear before. The photographer sneaks into the middle of the path, and just as he starts clicking his crappy little shutter, Ed grins at Roy.

 

"You ready? Grab a corner and throw it high!" Ed counts down from three, and Roy throws it so high he almost rips the hankie from Ed's grip entirely. It works though, thousands of tiny pieces scatter through the air and start to pirouette down over Al and Winry's heads. Bits catch in the fluttering lace of the veil, and they step forward through the pastel rainfall like two graceful swans.

 

"You think he got it? He had to get it. I set that the fuck up for him. On a plate." Ed peers at the photographer as he follows the newlyweds down the path.

 

"It's really important to you that they get a good picture, isn't it?" Roy says from behind him, loosely linking their fingers. Ed starts, but then looks back sheepishly. 

 

"Well...one day, pictures are all that's left of you. You know? They're proof we were here, proof of what we did. If their kids...if they don't get to..." Ed sighs. He was doing so well, really trying not to be a massive fucking downer. He can save it though. And Roy is special, Roy might just understand. "There should be evidence of this. Nice evidence. Where they're both smiling."

 

The hand around his tightens, and Roy pulls them to stand shoulder to shoulder. The locket on Ed's chest burns. 

 

"I'm sure he got the picture. And if not, they're both glowing. I'm sure any picture today will contain a slice of that happiness."

 

"I just want it to be perfect, you know?"

 

"I know. I'm sure they appreciate it." 

 

At the end of the path, the two of them have stopped. Winry turns her back on the crowd and various hands reach forward. She's strong, so when she throws the bouquet it travels further than anyone could have anticipated. It sails above the sea of hands. In the end it's caught by a very flustered Alex Louis Armstrong, who is too busy dabbing at tears to even notice the bouquet until it is almost in his face. His cheeks turn a similar shade of pink to the roses in his hands. Ed snorts.  

 

"You should probably get over there and congratulate them."

 

"Yeah. I still have to get to the hall and make sure they've started the canapes. Oh, you don't mind helping me hand those out, right?" 

 

Roy rolls his eyes, but leans forward to plant a kiss on Ed's forehead anyway.  

 

"Of course."

 

\---

 

The canapes are gone in minutes of course. Everyone is starving from the wait in the church, and they barely get all the place names on the tables before people start filing in to the long hall to sit down. The smell of roses is sweet in the air, and there are huge bunches of them scattered through the room. Ed stands under a large vase of them arguing with a waiter, and Roy cuts in smoothly as he sees both tempers rising.

 

"I'm sure you're busy," Roy says, effectively silencing the two of them. "Why don't you go and finish what you were working on, and we'll work out the problem."

 

"Sir." The waiter takes the escape and stomps away from them. Ed groans.

 

"Roy I need him to fix it! They've fucked up the vegetarian option, which is, you know, whatever. Al's used to that, he'd have bread and butter if you let him, because he  loves anything _ ,  _ but this is  _ his  _ day, you know? He should be able to have fancy shit with everyone else! And all that guy can say is that they won't have time now to fix it, and can't they just pretend-"

 

"What is it, exactly, that they managed to muck up about it?"

 

"They cooked the potatoes in fucking goose fat. Which is  _ delicious _ , and only eating vegetables is  _ dumb _ , but if my little brother wants to be dumb and vegetabl-y on his wedding day then he goddamn can be."

 

"Okay. Breathe. This is fine. How many vegetarian meals are there?"

 

"Um, I think...maybe five."

 

"Where's the kitchen?" Ed frowns at him. 

 

"It's the room by the main corridor. But I already talked to the chef, and- woah!" Ed is cut off when Roy grabs him by the shoulder and steers him out of the room. "I still  have to make sure all the little bridesmaids get their gifts though."

 

"They won't mind waiting a few minutes. Mainly because I gave them all lemon drops about ten minutes ago." Roy looks smug. Ed looks aghast.

 

"What if they get sticky shit all down their dresses?" He asks. Roy tries really, exceptionally hard not to laugh at the idea that Edward, of all people, could be worried about getting food on clothing. He settles for a wonky grin.

 

"The photographs have happened. It'll be alright. Besides, they're all quite precious about their gowns. Very proud, even." 

 

The kitchen is a bustle of activity, but it's mainly people taking food out on plates. Soup first. Roy hears Ed's stomach rumble loudly as they're hit with the warm, familiar smells of food. 

 

"Excuse me," Roy asks a slightly frizzled chef,  hands still holding Ed in place ahead of him. "We need a stove and a skillet, just for about twenty minutes. Oh, and could we serve the mains at half past? I know that pushes things back a little, but it's something of an emergency."

 

"I, uh, I suppose so. I should check- um, what are you-?"

 

"We have a potato-related issue. I'm just going to jump on in, if you don't mind."

 

"I'm not in charge of that...um..." 

 

"Fantastic. Thank you so much, you really are wonderful." Roy slides past him and releases Ed to pick up a skillet. 

 

"Are you alright to find me some butter? Come here." Roy leans in, swirling oil in the skillet at the same time as he lays a soft kiss right in the middle of Ed's forehead (where his hair parts like that very spot is framed for kissing). "It's going to be fine. I can already see the potatoes. Breathe for me, okay?"

 

Ed looks like he's going to explode and take most of the kitchen staff with him, but he finally takes a deep breath in through his nose. 

 

"You think you can get some decent potatoes done in twenty minutes?" 

 

"You doubt me? I'll wager I'll be finished with time to spare." Roy flicks on the heat and silently thanks his lucky stars that armed forces industrial kitchens and hotel industrial kitchens share suppliers. 

 

"Wager what?"

 

"Hmm. If I lose, I'll cook you whatever you'd like for dinner for a week. However, if I win...I get to choose how we take advantage of the apartment during the honeymoon."

 

"You're on. It's a stupid idea to bet against my bad luck, Mustang. You've made an error. I hope you like cooking steak because that's what we're having for an entire seven days." The ghost of a grin finally crosses Ed's face. It blooms warmth all the way up Roy's insides from the soles of his feet. Edward will be the death of him, but oh, what a way to go.

 

He sautes potatoes like his very life depends on it. Anything darker than a rich, golden brown gets fished from the pan and rejected to the plastic wastelands of the dustbin. There are two sets of caterers in the kitchen getting in each other's way. The other wedding are having lamb, and don't seem to notice that he's nabbed a few portions of boiled potatoes to fry. Staff move around him, bemused or deeply irritated, but he just whistles and tosses on some rock salt. He throws the sous chef a saucy wink. 

 

"You serving?" Roy asks him. Taller, wider, and looking more steamed than his vegetables, the chef glares Roy down. 

 

"The hell are you doing in my kitchen?"

 

"Rescuing this abysmal potato situation. These are for the vegetarian dishes. Great hors d'oeuvres, by the way, really, I didn't know you could be that elegant with salmon." Confusion cuts through the irritation for a moment, and Roy presses forward. "Graceful hands, I suppose." 

 

The chef blinks, and then wipes his palms on his hips. Roy flashes his most dashing smile. 

 

"There aren't any more potatoes. You're not even wearing a jacket-"

 

Roy lifts the pan.

 

"Just call me the potato whisperer. And I'm probably breaking a whole load of health codes but, well, I won't tell if you don't?" He bats his eyelashes and leans forward.  The chef rolls his eyes.

 

"I should never have taken this stupid wedding. I hate weddings." 

 

"Nearly over, my friend. Where do I plate up?" Roy shuffles the potatoes in the pan with a grin. They're perfectly golden, and smell divine, even if he does say so himself. The head chef visibly gives up. 

 

"Over here. Come on." He waves a hand at Roy, and leads him through the hustle and bustle. All the starters are gone. Everywhere Roy looks there are plates of chicken and shining steamed vegetables, and he suddenly realises that he's ravenous. The Head Chef takes the pan from him and starts adding potatoes like delicate flowers on plates of giant stuffed mushrooms. He stops to elbow Roy gently. He clears his throat. 

 

"Thank you. Get back to the party now, before they eat it all without you."

 

Plus one for charm. It never lets him down, not when he needs it. Roy claps the chef on the shoulder and slips back out of the kitchen. His hair will be a mess now - no  product can stand up to that kind of humidity, and he's probably red as hell from being so long in the warm. Somehow this doesn't seem to matter as much as it should.  It suddenly doesn't matter at all when he spots Ed across the room, nervously sitting next to Alphonse and playing with his fork. All the stress melts straight off his face when a waiter gingerly brings Al his main. Roy has to stop and catch his breath. 

 

It stuns him, sometimes, just how deeply he's managed to fall in love.

 

He takes a deep breath and skirts the edge of the room. Tapping Ed on the shoulder earns him a frown, and then the dawning of a smile so wide it is impossible not to smile back. As he slips into his seat past the blue taffeta bow, Ed's hand finds his own and clutches tight. 

 

"I guess I lost that bet, huh?" Ed says casually, but the grip on his fingers is evidence of his relief. "Thank you. I thought I was gonna' blow a fuse for minute, there."

 

"As if I'd ever let it come to that."

 

"My hero," Ed says drily, rolling his eyes. Roy is full of sunshine. Even backward half-praise from Ed makes his whole nervous system flip upside down, satisfaction and pride glowing through. He smooths his hair back as a cover, but he knows that Ed has seen his pleased smile for what it is. The little kiss to his cheek takes him by surprise though. 

 

"I'll cook potatoes every night if it earns me sugar like that," Roy teases. Ed thwaps him in the shoulder, and then a waiter is dancing around them with mouth-watering food, and Al is turning to them with bright, sparkling eyes after feeding Winry a bite off his fork, and the whole world looks like it's rose tinted. 

 

\---

 

The speeches are coming, and there's not enough champagne in the world to stop Ed's leg from jigging under the table. Roy supposes it's warranted; Ed has the job of parent. brother, and best man all in one oration. He hates public speaking, loud as he's capable of being. Roy can feel the terror coming off him in waves. 

 

"Got your cards?" Roy asks lowly. Ed swallows.

 

"Yeah. Front pocket. I think I checked the order, like, fifteen times in the hall."

 

"You'll be fine."

 

"Fuckin' better be," Ed mutters back. "This thing has more work in it than my last thesis."

 

"I know," Roy smiles. "Just remember to breathe, and if you need a box, I can fetch one."

 

"Fuck you, you asshole. Let's get this over with." Ed stands and clears his throat. He taps a fork against an empty champagne flute, and Roy can see him tilt it as he prays that he doesn't smash it. Watching the lock-up of Ed's jaw as eyes in the room start to swivel to him makes Roy nervous  _ for _ him. Conversation dulls to a low quiet, and people turn to the head table with smiles. Al and Winry share a slightly panicked look. 

 

"You all know I'm pretty cruddy at this formal lark, but Wikipedia tells me I'm supposed to do some kind of speech now." The crowd are already tipsy enough that titters ripple through the room. It's impossible to know the couple of the day without knowing Ed, and Roy hopes that he remembers it's a crowd of friends that he's speaking to. "And Win's wearing white so she can't hurt me enough to bleed until she gets out of the meringue. Um." He pulls out the cards and his hands are shaking. Roy gently leans his arm against Ed's leg, and listens to him stumble into the beginning of a speech that Roy must have heard a hundred times by now. Ed probably doesn't need the cards. He reaches the bit about fighting for Winry's hand in marriage without even turning to the card for it, and then panics a bit when he realises that he's ahead of himself. Al is crying already, but the grin on his face is wide and true, and when the brothers' eyes meet, Ed's eyes soften and his voice steadies just in time to outline the time Winry made Al play the mother in their game of House. 

 

Roy knows what follows; their terrible first date that Ed crashed, not realising it was a date; the time they got locked in a park because they were 'making goo-goo eyes at each other for too long'; and the now infamous story of how Al dropped the engagement ring into a storm drain and the two geniuses built an extending arm out of whatever they could buy at the nearest CEX store. Winry is laughing into her napkin, and Pinako almost puffs the tobacco right out of her unlit pipe. Al stands up and pulls Ed close, half wrestle half hug. Ed ruffles his carefully styled hair with a flash of teeth. "I know our family is small, but it's close. You two are my world, and I'm so fu-  _ freaking _ excited that you're finally tying the knot. You deserve each other. Like...together you light up everything around you and it's like you just slotted together from the start. I'm gonna' be the most irresponsible uncle ever, and I'm gonna teach all your kids the worst swear words and the best recipes for stink bombs. I just...I r-really love you both more than I co-uld- Shit." Ed starts to cry, and Al starts afresh. Winry jumps from her chair to tackle them both and Ed plants a kiss sloppily on her cheek. Roy is clapping without having noticed he'd lifted his hands. The rest of the room is cheers and whoops, and he can hardly believe he's here, allowed to be a part of the hard-won happiness going on around him.  The lopsided three-way embrace holds through the applause, until Ed fishes out a handkerchief to save Winry's makeup. He sits down as Al helps her shuffle her ruffles back to her seat, and Roy slings and arm around Ed's shoulders to squeeze. 

 

"You did great." 

 

Ed ducks his face into Roy's shoulder, embarrassed, but he smiles. 

 

"Thanks. I think I honoured my sibling duty to humiliate him as much as possible."

 

"Don't worry, I'll get you back just as badly at yours. I have way more stories than you do, Brother," Al jibes. 

 

"Don't you dare! You'll regret it." There's a countdown of three before Ed seems to fully process what Al is implying. The way he spins back round to face his grinning sibling is almost comical. "Wait, at my  _ what _ , exactly?" He turns panicky eyes on Roy, who lifts his hands in a show of surrender.

 

"I didn't say anything."

 

" _ Al,"  _ Ed stresses. Alphonse shrugs lightly. 

 

"It's been three years now. Honestly me and Win thought you would beat us to it." Al lifts a glass and takes a calm sip. Ed looks like he's about to faint. "Roy's basically part of the family already."

 

"That's not- three years isn't- ow!" Pinako passes with a flick to Ed's head. Roy's heart is thumping wildly, but he schools his features into amused calm as the old woman shushes them. 

 

"My turn. You pipe down, midget."

 

"Crotchety old hag!" Ed flings back reflexively. Without pause, Pinako clears her throat and climbs up onto a chair. Winry hovers around her worriedly, and the other guests quiet to listen to the next speech. Ed fidgets in his seat, refusing to meet anybody's eye. He's bright red, and Roy feels for him, truly. 

 

Reaching for a familiar hand - nails to the quick, calloused and scarred, but still warm - Roy leans into Ed's personal space.

 

"You're freaking out," Roy whispers.

 

"You're  _ not _ for some reason," Ed hisses back. 

 

"We're not going to suddenly fall into our vows just because Alphonse suggested it."

 

"Yeah but... But..."

 

"Besides, I haven't even proposed to you. Yet." Roy can hear Ed's breath stop. All he does is lift Ed's hand and place a kiss on one knuckle, a light dusting of lips. "Don't freak out, Ed. You said at the wedding I was expressly in charge of you not being allowed to freak out. Here is your warning."

 

"Look, these are some weird fucking signals you're giving out right now, and-" He's interrupted by the hall bursting into laughter. No one else has noticed their exchange, engaged as they are in Pinako's speech. Roy just continues to smile softly. "I'm not- For fuck's sake, I'm not really the marrying type, you know?" Roy laughs, and Ed's panic ebbs from his eyes just the tiniest bit.

 

"I didn't think it would be something that you would jump at. And I don't have a ring in my pocket, so I promise you don't have to pull that face at me."

 

"He's right though. Al, I mean. It's been three years. You're almost forty-" Roy makes a face at the mention of his age.

 

"That's quite enough of that, thank you."

 

"But it's true! Am I...if that's what you want- am I...holding you...back?" 

 

"Oh Ed, you idiot.  _ No _ . That's not what this is about at all. I didn't want to have this conversation until a later date, but now that it's come up I just thought I'd-... This isn't me pushing for us to get engaged. This is just me saying...ring and last name and certificate aside, I do intend to stay by your side for the rest of my life. If you'll allow me. That's where I want this, us, to go. I want to be with you forever."

 

Roy can see Ed's mind processing his words. It's a heady thing, to offer yourself up like that. All of him buzzes with anticipation, some anxiety, but mostly just a sense of rightness. He's never said anything more true in all of his life. He'd hand Ed his whole soul if he could. Never mind marriage; it's bigger than that. Marriage would just be trying to stuff this eternal  _ feeling  _ in him into a labelled box that's far too small. This is a surrender and an offering; a totally selfless gift of all of him, if Ed will only have it. They both know that forever is a flawed concept and a false promise, but Roy will fight for it. He'll fight with all of him to be with Ed until he can't even move any more. 

 

He'd never intended to do it in public, and definitely not on Al and Winry's wedding day. He'd thought maybe once Ed was full of food, and got that contented, sleepy look on his face, with a blanket on their sofa and a low volume movie softening their voices...that would have been a good time. The perfect time. But as Ed's face lifts to cautious happiness, and his initial fear transforms into a fragile, vulnerable hope, Roy feels like the universe made the better choice for him.

 

"You mean that? You're not just all caught up in wedding-itis?" Ed asks slowly.

 

"I've been trying to find a way to say it for a while now. I just didn't know how." Suddenly there's a round of applause and Pinako grabs a champagne glass, thrusting it to the fairy-light dimpled ceiling. Roy realises that they've missed her whole speech, but there's a video camera somewhere, recording the lot. They have time to catch up. Their whole lives, even.

 

"To Mr and Mrs Elric, and the long, happy life ahead of them. May they face each challenge together, and overcome it smiling," Pinako croaks. Ed hurriedly reaches for a glass  to raise, and Roy follows suit. They both raise it without trouble, but it's difficult to drink with smiles so wide. As onwardly drunken cheers fill the air again, Ed leans in with his eyes low.

 

"I- me too. I'd stay with you. I always want to stay with you, for as long as I can. Every day." Roy's heart soars, bouncing around the rafters of the old great hall like a pinball in a gaming machine. He grips Ed's hand tight and bites his lip.  "Fuckin'... _ sappy shit.  _ You're supposed to warn me, so I can look up some flowery words and not just say stupid shit like 'me too' when you get all sonnet-y."

 

"No Ed, it was perfect. You're perfect."

 

Ed hides in his bangs. Roy just holds onto his hand like a lifeline, and sips champagne without any real desire for it. Inside him is a swirl of bubbling emotion, but also a bone-deep satisfaction. There's a contented happiness in being in this bubble of light and sound, connected to Ed by one limb, but knowing neither of them would let go for anything. 

 

Guests are starting to get up and mingle. The dance floor is being cleared, an oval space under a gilt, candled chandelier. A rose-draped arch stands at the front of it with a huge jar underneath for guests to drop their well wishes in note form. Neither Roy nor Ed move. It seems Ed is too shocked to go and supervise the table moving. And, if he's honest, Roy's not sure his legs would fully support him if he stood up now. 

 

"You guys engaged yet?" Winry leans between them, resplendent with happiness and hair tumbling around her face in soft waves. Ed scowls and Roy just shakes his head with a small smile. She pouts at them prettily. "You're no fun. It's good luck to announce an engagement at a wedding."

 

"You'll have to work on Paninya, I'm afraid. We're happy as we are," Roy says fondly. Winry rolls her eyes. 

 

"Al, it didn't work! They're being boring," She calls. Ed's head snaps up.

 

"You dicks. I nearly had a fuckin' heart attack!"

 

"But then Roy said something sweet, and you got all blushy, and now you two want to go find a quiet corner together to hold hands and talk quietly into the night," Al predicts, walking over to loop an arm around Winry's waist. Accurate, and far too astute, that kid. Both Roy and Ed look away absently, slightly abashed. 

 

"You're lucky it's your weddin' day, Al."

 

"I sure am." Al leans in to kiss Winry on the nose. She giggles musically, and Ed mimes a gag. 

 

"Alright, alright, we get it. You're in love and everything is perfect. Go do your stupid first dance so they can put the good music on instead of the shmoopy shit."

 

They give Ed a kiss on each cheek and head off arm in arm, looking completely enamoured with each other.  He gazes after them and sighs.

 

"You okay?" Roy asks. Ed turns to him with a lopsided smile.

 

"I'm so okay it's kind of scary," he promises. 

 

And the best part is that Roy thinks he is, too. 

 

\---

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
